


Two Survivors

by DianaSkye



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Harry's childhood era, Initial Sirius/OC, James Potter Lives, M/M, Marauders, harry is an adorable baby, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:35:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27162593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DianaSkye/pseuds/DianaSkye
Summary: What if there were two survivors on that fateful night in 1981? Life will never be the same for James Potter, now that the war is over and he's raising his son alone. Well, not quite alone - he's got his best friends. James lives AU, slowburn WolfStar. WIP.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 51





	1. While we were fearing it, it came

**Chapter 1: While we were fearing it, it came**

Early on an October evening in 1981, a cloaked man walked through the sleepy village of Godric's Hollow. His hood was drawn so low over his face that you would have had to be standing right in front of him to catch a glimpse of his reddened eyes and thin, snake-like nostrils.

If you did catch a glimpse of his face, especially if you happened to be a muggle, you would likely have thought him simply to be wearing a particularly elaborate costume, given that it was Halloween night. If you happened to be a witch or wizard, however, it was more than likely that you would recognize him and if you did, you would be entirely justified in immediately dropping dead from fright. That is, if he didn't kill you first.

The man turned towards his destination, without so much as pausing, or breaking his brisk pace. He almost appeared to glide, so focused and deliberate was his stride. It might have seemed odd if you were watching from the street, for he seemed to be moving with such determination towards what was simply an empty lot, overgrown with weeds. If there had ever been a house there, it was now nothing but ruins. Again, this is assuming you were a muggle, of course. If you were a wizard, you would see him approaching a cottage - neat, tidy, with a white fence and flower boxes in the windows.

The man pulled a wand from his pocket. His motions were quick, but not careless.

He was a man with a goal, and he was not planning to fail. He never failed.

With a smooth flick of his wand, the door flew open and a second man darted into view. This man was younger, with tousled black hair and round-framed glasses. The young man must have been a wizard, though he was not carrying a wand, because he immediately recognized the man in the doorway. His eyes were positively crazed with fright.

"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him!" the young man yelled to someone in the house. "Go! Run! I'll hold him off - "

But it could not have been more than a second before the young man hit the floor, a burst of red light shooting from other man's wand.

The red-eyed man laughed as he stepped over the young man's unconscious form and into the cottage, heading up the stairs and toward the baby's nursery.

* * *

An hour or so later, when James Potter woke up to the sound of his son Harry's crying, his first thought was whether it was his or Lily's turn to go check on him. His second thought was to wonder why he was lying on the floor by the front door. His third thought wasn't so much a thought as it was a scream.

"LILY!"

* * *

If you are a wizard, you'll already know what he found when he got to the nursery. In case you're muggle though, it was this:

Lily.

(Dead.)

Harry.

(Alive, crying, with a new scar on his forehead.)

Lord Voldemort.

(Gone.)

James did then what anyone would have done. He pulled his sobbing son from his crib and held him close, then he collapsed to the floor next to his wife's still, cold form. He matched his son tear for tear.

* * *

Sirius Black hummed a Halloween carol as stepped off his motorbike. He'd landed in the Potters' back garden, practiced by now in arriving just at the edge of the wards and slipping towards the back door undetected. There was risk involved in visiting like this, but Sirius wasn't about to miss Halloween dinner with his godson. And besides, what was life without a little bit of risk?

"It's me!" Sirius called as he let himself in. "Happy Halloween!"

He wasn't too bothered at first that no one answered; they were probably just upstairs. Possibly they had eaten dinner hours ago. After all, he was wildly late.

When he entered the kitchen, he was at first more puzzled than worried. No one was there, but the preparations for a Halloween feast were evident. A cauldron of pumpkin soup bubbled on the stove, there was some sort of meat turning on a spit, and a tray of apples were repeatedly dipping themselves in caramel. In fact, the apples were getting quite overdone - they were now more caramel than apple.

"Lily?" Sirius called, before muttering a quick finite to allow the poor apples to lay still on their tray. "Are you upstairs?"

It was then that he noticed the two wands abandoned on the kitchen table. Sirius's heart started pounding, his breath shallow in his throat. He kept his wand ready as he turned the corner and inched quietly up the stairs.

Then:

Gentle footsteps on the landing.

A croaking voice. "Sirius?"

James, holding Harry (still wailing), appearing around the corner.

"He was here." Barely audible.

Sirius felt the blood drain from his face. He knew instantly which 'he' James was talking about, and if he had been here, someone was dead. Lily. He didn't need to ask, what had happened was as clear on James's face as if it had been written in thick black ink. What Sirius didn't know was how or why James and Harry were alive, though he was, in the back of his mind, grateful for it. In the front of his mind, there was just shock and fear and grief.

"Here, come down stairs," he heard himself say, tucking a comforting arm across James's shoulders. He wasn't sure where this clear voice of reason had come from, but figured he should go with it for as long as it would last. "Let's get Harry settled."

* * *

Remus Lupin was having the worst night of his life.

And that was saying something, because Remus was a werewolf, and every month he had a night at least as bad as the worst night most people have in their lifetimes.

This wasn't even a full moon.

It was much worse: the Potters had been attacked by Voldemort. Apparently, Harry was alive, though Lily was dead. Dumbledore didn't know about James.

(How Dumbledore knew any of this, Remus wasn't sure, but honestly, at this point, he just sort of went with it.)

Allegedly, Voldemort was dead. Or not dead? Gone, certainly. (Probably?)

Remus didn't care. What mattered was that Lily was dead, James probably was too, baby Harry had been attacked, and it was his best friend's fault. Sirius. He'd been the spy, for who knew how long, and he'd betrayed them. He was their most trusted friend, their Secret Keeper, and he'd led Voldemort right to them.

Remus was devastated of course, at the loss of Lily. And he was been eaten alive by worry about James. He was morally outraged at the attack on Harry, an innocent baby. These were clear things. Awful, but clear. Logical, sensical, coherent. Horrendous, yet believable.

What Sirius had done was not believable. It was not clear. It was not logical. It was nonsensical and incoherent and utterly unbelievable. Sirius was his best friend, his blood-brother. The dog to his wolf. Probably his soulmate, if such things existed.

He was the one person he'd thought he truly knew. If Remus didn't know Sirius anymore, then he didn't know anything. It was disorienting - and enraging. 

It was the worst night of his life.

And he knew, as he disapparated from headquarters, that he was almost certainly on his way to make it worse.

The Potters' cottage appeared in front of him. Or, rather, he appeared in front of it. The cottage looked just as it always did - window-boxes, neat lawn - but the front gate was open. Remus walked though it, slowly. He had his wand ready, but in no other way was he prepared for what he might find.

His instructions from Dumbledore were simple: Look after Harry until Hagrid arrives. Why Hagrid was taking Harry, where he would take him, why Remus couldn't take him wherever it was himself, or what he was supposed to do if James was actually alive, were all questions left unanswered. As was often the case, one simply had to trust Dumbledore and hope for the best.

What greeted Remus when he arrived was not what he had been told to expect. Though he had been preparing for death and destruction, he was still taken aback by what he saw: Sirius was there. In the _house_. With his arm around James and Harry.

"YOU!" Remus roared, the anger boiling inside him faster and hotter than he'd ever known he it could.

He moved quickly. Before Sirius could even register what was happening, Remus had disarmed him and sent him flying, as far away from James and Harry as he could get him, slamming his back against the wall and magically pinning him in place.

"How dare you fucking come here!" Remus held his wand to Sirius's throat. "They trusted you!" He slammed him against the wall again. "You were supposed." (Slam). "To." (Slam). "Be." (Slam). "Our friend!" (Slam slam slam).

Remus kept beating him against the wall. He knew, on some level, that this was not what he should be doing. He should be thinking about James and Harry, and looking after them. He should be gathering information for the Order. He should be keeping the cool, calm demeanour he always strived for, in defiance of all werewolf-related expectations of him. But Sirius shouldn't have betrayed them. And so, this was what he was doing.

"Moony, for fuck's sake, stop it!" Sirius gasped roughly, panting for breath. "I didn't do what you think I did!"

"Stop lying," Remus said through gritted teeth. Despite the unfathomability of it, he was convinced. He shoved him again. "Just tell me how long. How long!"

"It's not me, I wasn't-"

Remus punched him.

"Ow, fuck." That was Remus, muttering.

He'd never punched anyone before. He'd broken his thumb.

He was enraged, seething, hurt and betrayed, but having gotten in one good punch, he softened a bit. That, and he needed a moment to mend his hand.

As he did so, Sirius spoke. "Moony, I know what you think happened here, and if I were you, I'd have probably killed me already. But I didn't do this. I'm not the spy, I didn't betray James. I wouldn't, I couldn't, I promise you know me better than that." Sirius's speech was rambling. "We changed it. At the last minute we thought I was too obvious a choice. Or I thought. It was my fault, really. My idea. But I didn't know, I swear I didn't know. None of us thought…" He looked Remus in the eye, desperate for him to understand. "Remus, I wasn't the Secret Keeper."

They stared at each other for a moment. Just like that, Remus could see the Sirius he knew again, and he believed him. He quietly released the spell holding Sirius in place, but neither of them moved.

"Who?"

"Peter." Sirius choked a little as he said it.

Remus fell backwards a step. Peter.

Everything clicked into place. Of course it had been Peter. All the information that had gotten back to the Death Eaters were things Peter would have known. He hadn't been around as much the past year. He had always been scared and he had never been willing to stand up to a bully.

Of course the Death Eaters had gotten to him. Of course.

Gods, he was the perfect spy, wasn't he? No one ever noticed Peter Pettigrew. Least of all his supposed best friends, apparently.

"Shit, Sirius, I'm sorry."

Sirius straightened and cleared his long hair off his face. "I'd have done worse. And I will, when I get my hands on that fucking rat."

"Peter," came a whispered voice from across the room. "I hadn't even thought of that."

Remus started a little, having nearly forgotten that James was in the room.

"James," Remus said, remembering his priorities and crossing the floor.

He wrapped his arms around James and Harry, who was by now fast asleep against his father's chest. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry," he intoned low in his friend's ear.

Sirius approached, and Remus shifted to let him into the circular embrace.

The three young men stood like that, holding each other silently, wrapping the sleeping child up in their love, for a long, long while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please leave a review, I'd to know what you think! Future chapters will be longer.
> 
> Chapter title comes from Emily Dickinson's poem 1277
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr!](https://diana-skye.tumblr.com)


	2. What large children we are here

**Chapter 2: What large children we are here**

Harry Potter was, and would continue to be, an exceptionally well loved child. One thing would have been clear to anyone who saw the three men surrounding the sleeping boy in the front hall of the silent house: Harry was loved by his father and his father’s friends. It was a fierce, protective love.

It was this same love, or a version of it, that saved Harry’s young life. If you’re a wizard you may have heard stories about this kind of love. The kind of pure love that is magic in itself, though it is often lost in the magical teachings of today. If you’re a muggle, well, you’ll recognize it too, though you too may have occasionally forgotten it’s immense power or been told that such a power does not exist.

But it does. Love is the most powerful magic there is.

After a while, Harry woke. He squirmed against his father’s chest, stretched out his tiny fists, said, “Daddy, hungry.”

James kissed his forehead, whispered, “Okay.”

And with that, they all remembered that they had jobs to do, roles to play.

James took Harry to the kitchen. His job, his only job now, was to look after his son.

The other two watched him leave, staring after him and Harry even once they’d gone.

“I’d better get back,” Remus said softly to Sirius, still in the front hall. “Someone needs to talk to Dumbledore. Are you going to be okay here?”

“No,” Sirius said, “but I’ll manage anyway.”

Remus understood what he meant. None of them were okay now, perhaps never would be again, but that was no reason not to carry on.

“Oh, and Hagrid might be coming. Dumbledore said something about him taking Harry somewhere in case James wasn’t…” He gestured vaguely. “Anyway, just send him back to headquarters if you see him, I guess.”

Sirius nodded, his mouth set in a grim line. Then, just as Remus was turning to leave, he hooked two fingers around his wrist, holding him there for one last second. “Come back soon.”

* * *

Sirius could feel the pain and grief bubbling up inside him, just below the surface. His head ached from being punched and thrown against the wall. He was inches away from running from everything, from leaving the cottage and finding a drink or a potion or a pill or a woman or a man or anything at all that would make him forget.

He had to do something. He needed to help. He needed to stay. If he was ever going to do anything right in his life, it _had_ to be this. It had to be this.

He looked around, stepping in a circle with his hands on his head. He was reminded of himself as a dog, always turning in circles, never going anywhere. There had to be something for him to do. Something useful. People did things after tragedies, right? Things needed to be taken care of. Somehow he was the most competent adult here, so that was on him. Right?

That was probably a first. Sirius was not exactly known for his competence.

He tried to think of what a competent adult would do, and the first thing he thought of was Professor McGonagall. She would look at the situation logically, gather the facts, probably make a list.

Okay.

He could do that.

At least, he could imagine he was someone else, someone responsible, and then he could do that. This was a new form of escape for him - pretending that his brain was someone else’s. Sirius was generally an expert at escaping, so for now, this was working for him.

He sat down on the bottom stair and started numbering things off in his head.

1) Harry. Harry was priority one. For now, James was keeping him fed and safe, but he was in no position to do it alone. Someone would have to stay with them, but that was okay. Sirius was here, and he’d just have to keep an eye on the situation.

2) James. He’d have to keep an eye on James too, make sure he was eating, that he got some sleep later. He was priority two.

3) Voldemort. He’d been here, obviously, but he was gone. No one had told Sirius what had happened to him, maybe because no one knew. But Remus was on it. He was talking to Dumbledore, they’d figure it out. Sirius didn’t have to do anything.

4) Peter. Was a traitorous little bastard. Sirius wanted to kill him, wanted to rip him apart for what he’d done. He wished he could go after him, knowing that as he sat here, Peter must be getting further and further away. He would be running and hiding, which had always been the things Peter was best at. He was a rat, after all.

But no matter. Sirius was a dog. He could track a rat. Wormtail couldn’t hide forever.

5) Hagrid. He was coming here, apparently. Sirius didn’t know how he was getting here or when to expect him, but he’d figure that out when he arrived. He just had to wait. There was just the hardest one left.

6) Lily. She was still upstairs. They couldn’t just leave her body lying there. He probably had to contact someone about that - the Ministry? St. Mungo’s? He had no idea, but he couldn’t stand the fact that she was just up there, in the house. He’d known a lot of people who’d died, but he realized he didn’t know anything about what happened to them after. Why didn’t he know that?

He was not the right fucking person to be in charge here.

And what else? Lily’s family - she had a sister, right? Someone needed to contact her. And Lily’s friends, though they may have already heard. News tended to spread fast among wizards.

But he hadn’t brought an owl with him, and James and Lily’s seemed to be out, so how was he supposed to contact people, exactly? Again, he’d just have to fucking wait.

He stood up and paced the room. He felt so useless. He hated this. He hated this. He fucking hated this. He wanted to leave. He needed to stay. He hated this.

* * *

James felt like an Inferus as he moved about his kitchen - automatic, unseeing, unknowing. _Lily was dead._ He couldn’t stop thinking those words. He set Harry down in his high chair and ladled some cold pumpkin soup into a bowl. _Lily was dead._ He forewent the use of his wand, and avoided looking at where it still lay on the counter next to hers. If only he’d kept it with him, if only he hadn’t let his guard down…

He was about to sit down with Harry, ready to feed him, when he realized he didn’t have a spoon. Harry had a special spoon that he liked - it was smaller than a normal spoon and had a handle in the shape of a broom. Where was it? James checked three different drawers, slamming the third one shut in frustration when he couldn’t find it. Well, Harry probably wasn’t going to eat now. He wasn’t sure that mattered. _Lily was dead._

James pulled out a regular spoon and turned to where Harry was waiting expectantly, and sat down roughly, prepared for a fight. He offered Harry a mouthful and let out a breath of relief when Harry accepted it.

But then he gave Harry a second mouthful and was rewarded for his efforts with a spray of pumpkin soup spit all over the table and a yell of “No!”

James flinched. He felt a stinging behind his eyes like he was going to cry again. This was impossible. Doing this without Lily was impossible. _Lily was dead._

“C’mon Harry, you like pumpkin,” he said, trying his best soothing voice. “You’ll feel so much better if you eat sweetheart, just have one more bite.”

Before James could get the spoon anywhere near his mouth to try again, Harry had swept his little arm across the table and sent the bowl of soup flying to the floor with a crash.

“Harry!” James scolded automatically, his voice perhaps a bit louder than he intended.

There was a split-second pause. _Lily was dead._

Then: “Mummy!” Harry cried, his small face contorting with distress as he wailed. “Mummy!”

_Lily was dead._

* * *

When Sirius entered the room a few seconds later, he found Harry screaming for his mother, pumpkin soup splashed all over the floor and on the walls. James was on his knees, sobbing as he tried to clean up without his wand.

“Hey, stop,” Sirius said, pulling him to his feet and quickly vanishing the soup. “Just stop.” He handed James his wand. “Remember this?” James stared at it blankly, still gasping through tears. He took it though. Sirius said, “Good. Now, it’s late. Harry doesn’t need to eat right now, okay?” Sirius didn’t actually know if that was true; he knew nothing about babies’ eating schedules.

James just nodded, staring past Sirius into the abyss.

“Okay. You should eat something, though. I’ll take Harry for a bit.”

Harry was still crying and yelling, seeming more and more distressed as his continued cries of “Mummy!” went unanswered.

Sirius picked him up out of his highchair, trying to hold him as he thrashed.

“No,” James said, his voice stretched thin. “Please, I can hold him. I want… I need to keep him with me.”

Sirius nodded and passed him over, deciding that this was not a fight worth having. He’d just have to watch them. James hugged his son close to his chest, patting his back as he continued to writhe and cry wet, snotty tears. Sirius could hear him murmuring something to him. The only words he caught were “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

* * *

Remus kept his head down as he walked up the front path, away from the Potters’ cottage. He turned on the spot and apparated away as soon as he stepped into the street, without looking back.

He rematerialized on a breezy hill in the Scottish highlands. It had been windy when he’d left, it always was up here, but now the wind was positively gale-forced. And the wind had brought rain with it. He was instantaneously soaked through. He trudged over to the next hill, head bent, wishing for the umpteenth time that they could have chosen a closer apparition point.

Or, if he were wishing for things, a headquarters with better weather and fewer steep hills. But this was where Minerva McGonagall had built her house, and generously offered to the Order as headquarters for the school year. He had to assume it was nicer during the summer holidays.

Remus finally slipped through the door, head still down from the rain and wind. He shook out his hair and cast a drying spell over himself. When he looked up, for the second time this evening, he was shocked by who he had walked into a house to find.

There, on Professor McGonagall’s tartan sofa, was Severus Snape.

Snape, the Death Eater.

Snape, who they’d gone to Hogwarts with.

Snivellus.

That Snape.

But not just Snape.

 _Crying_ Snape.

Severus Snape was crying on Professor McGonagall’s sofa, being comforted by Albus Dumbledore.

For a moment, Remus was certain he must have simply chosen an inconvenient time to develop a hallucinogenic disorder. That would make more sense than this actually happening.

“Ah, Remus, you’ve returned,” Dumbledore said serenely. (Did hallucinations usually talk?) “I take it things were not as we’d feared?”

“I, er, James survived the attack, if that’s what you mean,” Remus said, glancing shiftily at Snape, who was still wailing.

“I’m grateful to hear it. I suppose Hagrid was there when you left?”

“Er, no he hadn’t arrived yet. Professor, what- ”

“But you didn’t leave Harry and James alone, certainly?” Dumbledore asked, looking somewhat alarmed.

“Oh no, of course not, Sirius was there, but- ”

Snape finally looked up at the mention of Sirius, his face darkly unreadable behind the tears.

“Remus!” Dumbledore said, standing up. “Surely you must have put the pieces together?”

“It wasn’t Sirius who betrayed them. They changed Secret Keepers right before they did the spell,” Remus said, his voice dull. “It was Peter.”

“Ah.” Dumbledore said, sitting back down. “That clears things up somewhat - and complicates matters.” He looked thoughtful. “I take it he was the spy all along?”

“He must have been, but sir, could you please explain this?” Remus gestured at Snape.

“Severus has been assisting the Order for some weeks now. And he, like all of us, has suffered a great loss tonight.”

“I, but- he- ” Remus had no words. He finally blurted out, “He’s a Death Eater!”

“He was formerly affiliated with Lord Voldemort, yes. That is no longer where his allegiances lie. I trust Severus’s loyalty to our side completely, especially now.”

“But sir! He- ”

“I will hear no more about it tonight. We can all address the situation at another time, when things are calmer.”

Remus tamped down a retort. It was never useful to argue with Dumbledore - the man was unbeatable. “Do we know anything more about what happened to him? Voldemort, I mean?”

“All information points to him being seriously weakened, perhaps fatally so,” Dumbledore began. “I do not believe he can be so easily killed, though that is largely guesswork on my part. What is clear, is that he is gone for now. Young Harry and his mother have bought us some time, though our fight is not over. I believe he will return. Certainly, in the meantime, his supporters are unlikely to go quietly, and there will be much for us all to do.”

Remus nodded, taking it in. He didn’t quite understand it. How could Voldemort be gone, without being dead? Where was he, if he was injured? If he wasn’t injured, then in what way was he weakened?

He was about to ask one or two of these questions, but Dumbledore spoke first, looking quizzical. “Did you say Hagrid hadn’t arrived?”

“No, I didn’t see him,” Remus shook his head.

“That’s odd,” Dumbledore said, checking his ornate gold watch. “I’d have thought he would be there by now.”

* * *

Sirius hadn’t cried yet. He wasn’t sure if that was normal. Seeing James emptied out like this, hearing Harry cry for a mother who would never come - it was too much. Too big. So big that he couldn’t really process it.

So big, that it made his own grief small. Lily had been his friend, and he’d loved her dearly, and he would miss her in big ways and small ways and ways he hadn’t even considered yet. But she wasn’t his mother or his wife and so his pain was taking a back seat. He hadn’t really even registered or processed anything beyond _James is hurting_ , and that, apparently, was not something that made him cry.

It made him restless, rageful, desperate to seek an escape, desperate to do something, but he didn’t feel grief or sadness, not really.

He just had to keep moving.

Anyway, he was cleaning the kitchen.

He had decided, after getting James and Harry settled in the living room - Harry was fast asleep clutching his favourite stuffed unicorn, James was staring at the wall without moving - that St. Mungo’s was the way to go.

Several owls had arrived in the past hour bearing letters of condolence (to James) and gratitude (to Harry). Sirius hadn’t recognized the name of a single letter-writer, and so he had tossed the letters in a pile without reading any.

He did however, commandeer an owl and use it to send a note to St. Mungo’s reporting the death. He’d received a reply very quickly, informing him that a healer and a mortician would be along shortly after midnight.

It was just midnight now. Sirius had put away the soup and vanished the caramel apples and the rest of the Halloween feast Lily had made. He didn’t think anyone would want to eat it now. He was just charming the last of the dishes to wash themselves, when he heard a gentle, professional knock on the front door.

* * *

Remus couldn’t get away from headquarters for almost three hours.

Order members were coming and going, checking in with Dumbledore and bringing updates from around Britain. Apparently, most of the country was celebrating Voldemort’s defeat, toasting Harry as ‘The Boy Who Lived’. Celebration was unimaginable to Remus.

Yes, Harry had somehow defeated the Dark Lord. He’d also lost his mother.

Other Order members were reporting chaos. Death Eaters had been emboldened by the knowledge of their inevitably imminent captures to commit just a few more horrendous crimes as the last hurrah of Voldemort’s regime.

Remus kept getting pulled into one more meeting, asked to consult on one more strategy, asked for one more opinion on the possible reactions of the werewolf community, was told one more story of the night’s events, and the whole time all he kept thinking of were Sirius’s last words to him before he left, playing on a loop in his mind. _“Come back soon.”_

So when he at last managed to slip away, he hurried. He practically ran back down the hill towards the apparition point, the rain still pouring down heavily, though the wind had lessened a bit. It was pitch black. Finally, at almost two in the morning, Remus stumbled up the path to the Potters’ cottage, as exhausted as he’d ever been in his life, but hurrying, desperate to see his friend.

He could see a faint light through the living room window, probably from a _lumos_. The rest of the house was dark. He slipped through the door and closed it silently behind him. He followed the light into the living room, and found that it was coming from Sirius’s wand.

Sirius was sitting on the floor, leaning against an armchair. He didn’t get up when Remus came in. In the blueish glow of the wand light, he looked as tired as Remus felt.

Remus sat down on the floor and rested his head on Sirius’s shoulder without a word.

“I only just managed to get him to take a sleeping draught,” Sirius said softly, nodding his head towards James. “Harry fell asleep hours ago.”

James and Harry were both sleeping, heads resting near each other on separate arms of the L-shaped sofa. Harry was still hugging his stuffed unicorn.

“I’m sorry I took so long.”

“It’s okay.” Sirius touched a hand to Remus’s knee for just a moment, which was how he could tell he meant it.

They sat in silence for a while.

“Did you know Peter gave him that unicorn?” Remus said eventually.

“No I fucking didn’t.”

Remus breathed half a chuckle at Sirius’s response. “It was a gift when Harry was born. It’s been his favourite ever since.”

“Well, fuck.” Sirius sighed. “Did Dumbledore say anything about Peter?”

“Not really.”

“Did he say anything about Voldemort?”

“Only that he’s gone, but he doesn’t think forever.”

“Does he know why he didn’t kill James too? Voldemort never just stuns.”

“I said the same thing. All he said was ‘hubris’.” Remus shrugged.

“Typical. What about why he was here in the first place?”

“Apparently, he was trying to kill Harry. Dumbledore didn’t say why. Only that Lily probably died protecting him.” Remus got a little choked up on that last sentence, the tears he had been holding back all night finally threatening to fall.

“A mortician was here,” Sirius said, after a beat. “From St. Mungo’s. James had to sign a bunch of stuff. They took her away.”

They sat in silence for a while, each in his own thoughts.

“Everything’s going to be different now, isn’t it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for being here! Please leave a review - I'd love to know what you thought of this chapter!
> 
> Chapter title comes from the Anne Sexton poem You, Doctor Martin.


	3. Alive and stuck with it

Wizarding Britain had an especially joyful Christmas season in 1981.

The shops were packed in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. Everyone was splurging a little, no longer worried about economic collapse. Families traveled to be with each other, no longer nervous that their relatives could be Death Eaters in disguise. Groups of friends packed the pubs, no longer scared to be out after dark.

The fear and strain of war had been lifted for a little while by then, but Christmas made it seem more real somehow.

It was over.

Perhaps it was that the seasonal messages of peace on earth and joy to the world felt more relevant than normal. Or perhaps stories of infant heroes just resonated a bit more than they had in the past.

And of course, most of the Death Eaters were safely in Azkaban by then. Any who weren’t were so deep in hiding, or so good at covering up that they had ever been affiliated with Voldemort in the first place, that they didn’t seem like much of a threat.

It was a wonderful, hopeful, peaceful season.

Also, there were a record number of orphaned students staying at Hogwarts for the holidays. So many were still mourning their dead or searching for the many who were still missing.

The Order of the Phoenix was doing plenty of both. Though the war was calm for now, the Order had suffered many losses along the way - the Prewitt Twins, Marlene McKinnon, Lily Potter, Benjy Fenwick, Dorcas Meadows… and it was getting harder and harder to believe that Hagrid was not among them. He had not been heard from since being dispatched to the Potters’ on Halloween night.

James and Harry Potter were among the mourners, of course. Though James would try, their Christmas was unlikely to be a joyful one.

By Christmas Eve, life at the Potters’ had settled into something of a routine. Sirius had moved in right away - he’d broken the lease on his flat and packed all his things into a solitary expanded bag. It had taken him less than 10 minutes. Since then, he hadn’t spent a single night away from the Potters’ cottage. Remus had moved in a couple weeks later, having waited out one last full moon in his parents’ basement.

Sirius and Remus would be away the night of the 24th, making it James’s first night alone with Harry for a while - maybe ever.

But it was okay. In a weird way he was almost looking forward to it. To just putting his son to bed and being alone in the quiet. He needed a moment to miss her.

Not that he didn’t miss her every second. Her absence was exceptionally present. It filled every moment of his day, every spot in his house. He missed her when he slept without her. He missed her when he woke up and forgot for a moment that she wouldn’t be there. He missed her when he looked at Harry’s green eyes, and when he tried to sing Harry’s lullabies, but knew he wasn’t doing it as well as she used to. He still couldn’t find that spoon Harry liked, and he missed her when he wished he could ask her where she’d put it. He missed her when Harry cried, because he didn’t call for her anymore. Either he knew she wasn’t coming, or he’d forgotten her. James wasn’t sure which possibility was worse.

On the 25th they would try to have Christmas:

They’d have a nice breakfast, exchange gifts.

They’d do gifts in the afternoon because Remus would have to sleep in.

Then they’d have an early dinner before Remus left for desert with his parents.

James had it all planned. It wasn’t going to be great, probably wasn’t even going to be pleasant, but it would be good enough. A ‘good enough’ Christmas was all he could give Harry this year, he knew that. Next year would be better.

Remus was the only one with family to go to. Sirius wouldn’t be with his family, obviously, having been disinherited some years ago. James’s parents were dead. Lily’s had died young too, and her sister hadn’t replied to his letter, so no in-laws either. Which was something of a relief, since he’d met the sister’s husband once and he had no desire to repeat the experience.

James was thinking about all this as he read Harry his bedtime story on Christmas Eve. _Babbity Rabbity and the Cackling Stump_ \- Harry’s favourite. James and Lily used to read it to him together. They’d done voices, acted it out in parts… the whole thing. Harry had really been too young to appreciate it, but James and Lily had had fun.

Tonight, James just read in a normal voice as his mind wandered. He’d read the story so many times that he almost didn’t need the book.

He thought about last Christmas. It seemed unimaginably perfect now, though he remembered thinking it was rather awful at the time.

Harry had been not quite 5 months old, and he’d had a terrible cold. He was miserable the whole day. James had overcooked the turkey. The rest of the food was good, since Lily had been responsible for it, but she’d been upset too - her sister had refused a Christmas visit at the last minute. Remus was barely there, between spending time with his actual family and working on business for the Order. Sirius was there, though he’d brought his girlfriend at the time, who everyone else had hated. Peter was the only one who’d seemed in any sort of good mood.

It all seemed so bloody wonderful in retrospect. So much louder than this year’s silent night. He missed loudness.

James took a moment to peer into Harry’s crib. He was asleep.

He slipped out of the room and into the upstairs hall. He sat at the top of the stairs and looked down into the dark, empty house.

He stared at the door and flashed back to memories of Voldemort coming through it. He’d been so scared. He’d thought for sure he would die. Voldemort killed so many, and he’d never know why not him. Or why not Harry. It didn’t make any sense that his son was alive. If Harry had died... well James probably wouldn’t be alive now either.

He was though.

He was alive.

And though he knew he should be grateful to have the rest of his life ahead of him, and to get to live that life in a peaceful world while he raised his son, more often than not, the future just felt like a long time. A very long time stretching out before him, so many thousands of days left to live, full of so many possibilities. But all he felt when he thought about the future was tired. Pulled down by the weight of it.

* * *

Somewhere, many hundreds of miles north, Remus was standing in ankle deep snow at the edge of a forest. It was cold and damp and it was getting steadily colder as the sun began to set. He hated this time of year. The nights were so much longer.

“Merlin, it’s cold,” he muttered under his (visible) breath. He was shivering now. Partly from the cold, but mostly from the vibrations deep in his bones that signalled his impending transformation.

“You picked the place,” Sirius said, emerging from the trees behind him. “If you’ll recall, _I_ suggested the south of France.”

The whole thing had been Sirius’s suggestion, actually. He’d brought it up a few weeks before, the day after Remus had brought his stuff over to James’.

“So you know that I’m not letting you go back there, right?” Sirius had said.

“Hm?” Remus hadn’t looked up from where he was chopping potatoes.

“And not just because you’re the only one of us who can cook.”

“What are you talking about? Use words that make sense, Padfoot.”

“I don’t want you going back to your parents’ for the full moon. I hate thinking of you locked in that basement, and now that you’re out, you’re staying out.” Sirius had said it all in a rush, like it had been rehearsed. He’d probably been expecting Remus to protest. If he had been, he’d been right.

“It’s the only safe place to do it,” he’d said definitively. “I can’t just run around in the woods like we did at Hogwarts. You know how dangerous I am.”

“It’s that fucking basement that’s dangerous. You have new scars every month from throwing yourself at that door.”

“And it’s completely secure and I haven’t ever escaped or hurt anyone.”

“You’ve hurt _you_. You count as someone, Moony.”

“It’s what I have to do.” He didn’t look at Sirius.

“No it isn’t! And you’d see that if you’d just stop hating yourself for one fucking second!” Sirius had raised his voice, and elsewhere in the house they heard Harry crying as he was woken up from his nap. “Shit, sorry, I just… We could go somewhere. Somewhere remote, with no people, and I’d transform too and keep you calm, and it would be okay. We could do it. It would work. Please, Remus.”

“It’s too dangerous. I appreciate that you care so much, really, but I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

Sirius grabbed his shoulders and held him so he couldn’t look away. “C’mon, please - let’s just try it once. Next one is Christmas Eve. It’ll be bloody cold and it’s a holiday, no one will be anywhere near the woods. We’ll find a nice remote spot. We can do this.”

“I don’t want to ruin your holiday. You shouldn’t have to stay up all night in the cold with me.”

“So we’ll go somewhere warm. The south of France.”

“That’s not funny. And this isn’t happening.”

“Oh I think it is. We can skip France, if that makes you feel better. You can pick anywhere you want. Puh-leeease, Moony.”

“Sirius… come on. We can’t.” Remus was ready to drop the subject. He turned back to his potatoes, but then he felt a small tug on his jeans. “Merlin, Sirius! That’s not going to work, you know.”

A shaggy black dog had replaced Sirius in the kitchen. It stared up at Remus with what can only be described as puppy-dog eyes.

“No, Sirius! I’m not doing it!”

The dog kept looking at him, eyes getting ever wider.

“Stop it! It’s not working!”

The dog whined softly.

“For Merlin’s sake,” Remus muttered, shaking his head. “Fine!”

The dog leapt to its feet and wagged its tale excitedly.

“Just once! We’re only trying this once!”

The dog started running circles around the room, barking excitedly.

“So you agreed, then?” James said, poking his head around the corner, carrying Harry. “The dog thing was my idea.”

“I hate you both…”

James had just winked. “Harry, do you like the doggie?” Harry giggled. “Come on, let’s go to the living room and see if we can get Padfoot to play fetch, shall we?”

Remus still wasn’t sure it had been the right decision, but it was too late to turn back now. They were already at the forest’s edge, minutes away from sundown.

He sighed. “If you’re going to stay, you should transform now.”

“We have a few minutes still,” Sirius said with his characteristic nonchalance. “And stop with that ‘if’ nonsense. I’m staying.”

Remus sighed again. “I hate that this is how you’re spending your Christmas Eve. You should get to be with Harry tonight. Or with Natalie.”

Sirius scoffed. “Like I was invited to Christmas with Natalie’s family.” He placed a calming hand on Remus’s now visibly shaking shoulder. “Besides, I think James wanted a quiet night. There’s no place I’d rather be than here.”

Remus knew Sirius was sincere, but he also knew it wasn’t completely true. No one wants to spend the night running around after a werewolf in the middle of freezing nowhere. No one wants to watch the inhuman horror of a man becoming a monster.

“Sirius, it has to be now,” he rushed out, his voice hoarse. He could feel that it was moments away. Sirius gave his shoulder one last squeeze, then without another word, leapt easily into his dog form.

Remus watched as the dog ran through the snow, sending a spray of white powder behind him. Sirius dropped and rolled joyously onto his back, shimmying into the deep bed of snow. He stood and shook out his black fur, sending snow flying in every direction.

Remus felt the echo of a grin spread across his face as he watched the dog, but it vanished moments later when his spine snapped in half. He let out a scream, which turned to a howl as his body buckled.

He felt pain and then he felt nothing, because he was gone. Remus Lupin stopped existing and in his place was a snarling, vicious wolf.

* * *

Sirius thought his plan had gone exceptionally well, thank you very much.

The snow had been a bit cold to start, but he’d been quite toasty in his fur once he got going.

Plus, the snow was fun.

A night running around as a dog and playing in the snow had been a welcome break from the stress of the last few months.

Remus was stubbornly refusing to believe that he’d enjoyed himself.

(“Sirius, I almost bit you.” “But you didn’t, Remus.” “But I could have.” “Werewolf bites don’t affect dogs.” “It would still hurt.” “It would heal. And you didn’t actually bite me! Also, it was fun.” “Don’t try to make me feel better. I’m going back to my parents’ next month.” “Well _I’m_ going to play in the woods again next month and it would be more fun if you came.” “Stop saying it was fun.” “But it was.” “It was dangerous, Sirius.” “Why should that mean it wasn’t fun?”)

He was pretty sure he’d bring Remus around to the idea of it becoming a monthly tradition soon enough.

When they’d come back from their night in the woods, Remus had been exhausted. Sirius had been too of course, from staying up all night, but Remus had been that special werewolf-tired that came from having his body forcibly ripped apart and his mind altered beyond recognition.

Sirius was extremely grateful that animagus transformations didn’t hurt and that he was still mostly himself as a dog. He’d do it even if it did hurt, anything for Remus, but he was glad he didn’t have to.

Christmas had gone fine. It had been sad and quiet, but it was okay.

Sirius had had to work for most of the days following the holiday but he had tonight off, finally. He didn’t mind his job really. He was lucky to have kept it through the war and to be doing something he mostly enjoyed. Bartending at the Leaky wasn’t a forever career, but it paid well enough and he had something of a natural talent for it.

It was a bit of potion making and a lot of mind-numbing repetitive tasks, but it was mostly talking to people. Making them feel comfortable, making them laugh, giving them what they needed to get through the day, which was a kind word as often as it was a stiff drink.

And he met people there sometimes, like his sort-of girlfriend Natalie Brown. They’d been seeing each other on-and-off - mostly off but currently on - for a little over a year. She’d been just a year above him at school, but she was in Hufflepuff so they hadn’t interacted much. During the war, she’d been on their side. She wasn’t a fighter, but she’d helped in other ways - casting enchantments on muggle houses, caring for those who’d been injured.

Natalie was pretty and nice and fun and entirely lovely, but just like his career at the Leaky, she wasn’t forever.

Sirius had another forever in mind. A probably hopeless, one-sided fantasy of a forever, but he wasn’t giving up on it. On him.

For now, he was waiting. He was working a decent job while he figured what out he really wanted to do and he was dating other people while he waited on his forever.

Also now, he was getting ready for a party - New Year’s Eve with the Order. A celebration of the start of a year in which there would be no war. It was at Headquarters, McGonagall’s cottage in Scotland. Though the ‘Headquarters’ thing was starting to sound silly - the Order was rapidly becoming less a resistance society and more a social club. One of the benefits of peace time.

Although, it remained unclear whether going to a party with many of his former professors could actually be considered a benefit.

“James, are you ready?” He poked his head around James’ door, expecting to find him trying to flatten his hair or perhaps wrestling Harry into his little dress robes, but James was just sitting on his bed. Harry was on the floor, playing with his unicorn. (The new stuffed dog Sirius had bought him for Christmas had not been a hit, much to his dismay. Peter’s unicorn could not be replaced, apparently.) Harry appeared to be fully dressed and ready, unlike his father.

“I don’t think I’ll go after all,” James said. “You and Remus can take Harry, but I don’t think I’ll go.”

“I thought you agreed that this would be good for you.”

“I know, I just… I’m not ready Sirius.” James’ voice was quiet and smoothed out, almost like he was speaking through a wall.

“Two months isn’t that long.”

“I know. But it’s not that short either,” Sirius said as he sat down next to James, patting his knee as he went. “Everyone misses you.”

“I know they do, that’s the problem. I can’t handle all that.”

“Not even for a little while? Needing to bring Harry home would be a great excuse to get out of there early.”

“I’m sorry Sirius, I can’t. I just can’t do it.”

“Alright then,” Sirius sighed. “If you’re sure.”

“I am. Sorry, again.”

Sirius waved his hand in acknowledgement of the apology. He hated that James wasn’t coming, but he recognized a lost battle when he saw one.

“Right then, young man. Ready for a party?” He heard the artificialness in his bright voice as he scooped up his godson. “Let’s go find Uncle Remus, shall we?”

Downstairs, Remus was waiting by the floo, dressed in dark blue dress robes. He looked nice.

“New?” Sirius asked, before he could stop himself, gesturing to the robes.

“Christmas gift from mum,” he said. “No James?”

“No James.”

“Damn, I was really hoping he’d make it this time.”

“Me too. I don’t know how much longer he can avoid the world like this.”

“Yeah.”

There was nothing else to say, so they just stepped into the floo, Remus first, then Sirius and Harry.

Years ago, if Sirius had imagined how he’d be spending New Year’s Eve the year he was twenty-one, he’d have pictured himself arriving at a party fashionably late, probably strolling in at 11:45 already blind drunk. As it was, he stepped out of the floo at Professor McGonagall’s cottage at 8:15, perfectly sober and carrying a toddler.

He and Harry were immediately swarmed. Everyone wanted to see the little boy, partly because he was The Boy Who Lived, but mostly because he was cute.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Remus slip silently away. He reappeared moments later with two butterbeers. He passed one to Sirius and reached out to take Harry without a word.

“Thank you,” Sirius mouthed, taking his leave of the enthusiastic group. He took a sip of his butterbeer, which turned out to be generously spiked with firewhisky. _Thank you, indeed._

It seemed that Remus had volunteered for the first Harry-minding shift, which left Sirius free to go find Natalie and probably mingle as a couple for a while.

He spotted her standing in the dining room, chatting with Kingsley Shacklebolt and a few others. She’d pulled her long blond hair back into an elegant twist and was wearing a short black dress. Sirius pulled her aside and greeted her with a quick kiss, wrapping both hands around her lower back.

“Hey,” Natalie said once they’d pulled apart. “You made it. And you’re hardly late at all.”

She was just teasing him, her grinning face slightly flushed from drinking what he assumed to be her second glass of wine.

“I should get bonus points for being here _this_ early. I did come with a toddler after all.” In reality, it wasn’t the toddler, but the toddler’s father who had made him late, though Sirius didn’t feel that was worth mentioning.

“Fine, fine, ten points to Gryffindor,” she said with a mock sigh and a little laugh. “Though, I see no evidence of said toddler.”

“He’s holding court in the living room. Hoards of visitors. Did you want to join them?”

She shrugged. “Later’s fine. He sounds rather busy.”

“Mm, very. I’ll have to take over from Remus later anyway, so you can have loads of Harry time then, right?”

“Sounds good.” She kissed him again and they drifted back towards the group she’d been talking to earlier.

“Barty Crouch’s _son_?” Hestia Jones was asking.

“Yep. He and the Lestranges were arrested for it last week. Trial should be soon.” That was Kingsley, filling the group in on the latest news from the ministry. Though he was young, hardly any older than Sirius, Kingsley was an extremely effective auror and always seemed to know everything that was happening in the wizarding world. Sirius liked him, though he was also more than slightly intimidated by the man.

“Merlin, it makes me so mad. Frank and Alice, of all people. They didn’t deserve that. Not that anyone would, but…” Dirk Cresswell said. “Has there been any news on how they’re doing?”

“It doesn’t look good. It’s early still, but Mad-Eye told me the healers aren’t optimistic.”

There was a general, sober pause.

“Any others?” Sirius asked after a moment, trying to sound casual, though he was genuinely quite anxious to hear the fates of a select Death Eater or two.

“Looks like Malfoy will get away with it. He’s claiming he was imperiused, and he’s got enough money that I expect the ministry will find that surprisingly believable… Looks like Karkaroff and Macnair will get off too. And Snape obviously, Dumbledore’s testifying on his behalf, no one knows why… Mad-Eye got Dolohov, at least. Yaxley’s still missing. And,” Kingsley hesitated for just a beat, “so is Pettigrew.”

Sirius nodded stiffly. It was what he’d been expecting to hear, but it didn’t make it more pleasant. He should have gone after him when he’d had the chance, on Halloween night.

He hated that of all the vile, slimy Death Eaters, it would be Peter who would be one of the last to get caught. He supposed he’d been successfully not getting caught for potentially years while he’d been pretending to serve the Order, pretending to be their friend. He shouldn’t be surprised that he was hard to catch.

Natalie gave his arm a little squeeze, her way of asking him silently if he was okay. He gave her a reassuring little smile, trying to put her at ease.

The truth was that he was not okay, was never okay when it came to Peter, but Natalie was not the person he wanted to talk to about it. He’d share his fears with Remus later, but for now he would put on his brave party face.

He downed the rest of his spiked butterbeer and, taking Natalie’s hand, made his way through to the kitchen to grab another drink.

They mingled for a while. The rest of the party goers were steadfastly clinging to lighter conversation topics - Christmas gifts, the weather, ‘look how much Harry’s grown’. It was nice. He was having a good time.

Eventually they made their way back to the living room, where Harry was entertaining the crowd with something of a double-act between himself and Professor McGonagall. He was repeatedly tossing all the objects out of a bureau drawer, only for McGonagall to stop them in midair with her wand and send them back where they belonged, feigning exasperation. Harry was not in the least bit deterred, and in fact giggled quite excitedly each time she returned an object he had thrown.

Sirius noticed that Remus was standing with Professor Dumbledore on the other side of the room from himself and Natalie. They didn’t seem to be talking - Dumbledore was engrossed in the Harry-McGonagall show, his blue eyes twinkling - but Remus had a contemplative look on his face that Sirius would be sure to ask about later.

The night stretched on, the new year rapidly approaching.

Around 10:30 he had a brief conference with Remus where it was decided that Harry’s overtired giggling was on the precipice of tipping over into a state of emergency. Remus flooed him home after one last round of hugs from his delighted admirers, and Sirius was pleased to find himself suddenly unburdened from any responsibility save getting as drunk as possible.

Remus returned to the party quickly and by the time midnight rolled around Sirius was the most relaxed and as close to happy as he’d been since before Halloween.

The new year was rung in with a champagne toast and a kiss from Natalie, which, in their drunken and celebratory state, soon became many kisses, tucked away in a dimly lit back pantry.

Sirius allowed one hand to stray low on her hip, his other hand messing up her beautifully done hair as he kissed her against a shelf of preserves. The kisses were warm and sharp, insistent and champagne-flavoured and sweet. Sirius was beginning to think that it was time to leave and continue this back at Natalie’s flat. He was dragging his mouth away from hers, preparing to say as much, when a lamp flicked on in the pantry.

Remus cleared his throat from where he stood in the bright light. Sirius thought he saw something dark flash in Remus’s eyes for one brief moment. Jealously, maybe? Something deep in his chest throbbed at the thought, beating out the sound of _forever_ , but whatever it was, was gone in an instant and Remus’s eyes returned to their typical state of easy gentleness and Sirius couldn’t be sure that he hadn’t imagined the whole thing.

“Sorry,” Remus said, politely averting his gaze several feet to the left of where Sirius and Natalie were straightening themselves out. “I think you’ll want to come out here.”

“What’s going on?”

“Hagrid’s just arrived.”

* * *

“ _HAGRID_?” Sirius shot past Remus out of the pantry without another word.

Remus exchanged amused glances with Natalie at Sirius’s antics. They proceeded back out to the living room at a more reasonable pace, Natalie still adjusting her hair.

“He’s really here? Do you know if he’s alright?” she asked.

“Yes he’s here,” he said, suddenly and inexplicably annoyed, his mouth tense and his voice short. “He seems fine.”

He knew he shouldn’t be bothered by her questions; they were perfectly reasonable. But, _honestly_. The woman asked too many questions.

Hagrid, however, did indeed seem fine. By the time Remus joined the crowd of mostly drunken onlookers in the living room, he was sitting in a very large chair, conjured from nowhere, and asking after his animals. Snow dripped from Hagrid’s massive form and left a trail of puddles showing the way to the front door, which McGonagall was discreetly vanishing from where she stood next to him.

“Who was lookin’ after Fang while I was away? The poor feller, must be worried sick not knowin’ where I was off ter. And the thestrals? Are they alrigh’?” He was looking around wildly for someone to reassure him.

“Yes, my dear Hagrid, Professor Kettleburn has done a fine job with them and the rest of the forest creatures in your absence.” Dumbledore appeared, levitating several tankards of ale ahead of him. “And Fang has made a very pleasant companion for my office, though I cannot say he enjoyed my company half as much as I enjoyed his.”

Dumbledore set the ale down on a newly conjured table next to Hagrid and conjured a plush chair for himself. He sat down daintily and took a sip from the small glass of mead that had appeared in his hand. Hagrid downed half a tankard in a single sip. “Thank yeh, Professor Dumbledore, sir.”

“Now, Hagrid, I’m sure you’re very tired, but we are all just itching to hear where you’ve been.”

“Oh. Righ’, well-” Hagrid looked around shiftily, seeming newly aware of the sheer number of people in the room. “I, er, it started on Halloween, right, the nigh’ that You-Know-Who and Lily… well, you all know what happened.

“Professor Dumbledore here had sent an owl down to me hut, sendin’ me off ter the Potters’, you know, ter check on little Harry, in case, well, in case he needed checkin’ on. Right, so the owl brought me a portkey too, so I set off straight away and landed in Godric’s Hollow, righ’ across the square from the house.

“And they were there too, waitin’ for someone ter come, I suppose. Loads of ‘em. Death Eaters. Tried ter get me to tell ‘em where the house was, they couldn’t see it o’ course. Well I wouldn’t tell ‘em nothin’, don’t matter what they tried, cruciatus curse, nothin’.”

Several gasps erupted around the room, but Hagrid seemed undeterred. He took another sip from his tankard, finishing it off. Remus was beginning to suspect that Hagrid was rather enjoying the chance to tell his tale to a captive audience.

“Well, they was startin’ ter get frustrated after a while, so they started shootin’ off stunners and such, maybe even a killin’ curse or two, but nothin’ stuck. I guess they figured if they couldn’t get ter the house, they’d try ter stop me from getting there at least. Well, I don’t go down that easy - thick skin, see - and in the end one of the stunners hit the bloke who seemed ter be in charge, and after he went down, the rest of ‘em scattered.”

“Who was it Hagrid? Their leader?” Kingsley interjected.

“Couldn’t be sure, he had his hood up, wearin’ a mask. But he had a snotty sort of voice, rich-looking robes an’ that. One of those estate-types, Malfoy maybe. Anyway, it was just the two of us by then, and he was still out cold. But he had this sack strapped to his chest, leather thing, didn’t seem ter go with the rest of his fancy robes, so I figures I better have a look. So I get the bag off him, and it’s just a little book and a couple o’ galleons in there.

“Well, I thought there had ter be more, weird bag like that, so I put my hand in, trying ter feel around for summat else, but I must’a brushed up against one o’ them coins, an’ next thing I knew, I were on my way outta there and I ended up in a forest. Didn’t figure out ’til later that I were all the way in Albania. Course I knew it were somewhere far away, looked nothin’ like a British forest. Anyway, the galleons were portkeys, I suppose. I tried all of ‘em, and each one just brought me back ter the same place. None of ‘em worked the other way, so I was stuck.

“Oh, I never been in such a state, worryin’ about little Harry an’ all, and no way out. I don’t apparate, see, so without a return portkey, I was well outta luck. Took me near a week just ter make it out o’ the forest and ter find a town. And then I couldn’t tell what language the folks were speakin’, no magic folk anywhere ‘round, no owls, so I just had ter keep walkin’.

“And with no news about You-Know-Who and the war, I didn’t want ter draw attention ter meself, so I stayed outta the way, mostly. Made it up ter Switzerland ‘fore I found any wizards speakin’ English. An I overheard ‘em talkin’ about little Harry and Lily and James and You-Know-Who, so I thought it would be okay ter follow ‘em, and they led me ter a pub, and next thing you know, I’m in the floo headin’ for the Leaky Cauldron! No idea what day it was, mind.

“And old Tom tells me it’s New Year’s Eve! So I figures this’d be where I’d find Professor Dumbledore. So I hailed the Knight Bus and, well, now here I am.”

He took a long sip from a tankard, as the rest of the room looked on in stunned silence. Hagrid had walked from Albania to Switzerland? That’s why he’d been missing for two months? It would be an unbelievable story from anyone else, but to Remus’s mind, it seemed like just the sort of thing that _would_ happen to Hagrid.

But what had a Death Eater like Lucius Malfoy been doing with a bunch of portkeys to Albania?

“Well, Hagrid, that is quite an adventure you’ve been on,” Dumbledore said, breaking the silence. “I’m sure you’re quite exhausted and I suggest this eager group lets you head to bed without anymore questions tonight.” He looked around at the crowd, eyes twinkling through his firm stare, and asked the last question Remus expected him to ask. “But if you’ll permit me the liberty to ask just one thing, did you perhaps keep the book you found in the Death Eater’s bag?”

“I thought yeh might want ter look at it, sir,” Hagrid said, digging through the many pockets of his worn overcoat. “It’ll be here somewhere. But I’m not sure it’ll be that useful, it’s just a blank diary.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter - please let me know what you think :)  
> Also, come chat with me on tumblr! I'm diana-skye over there. 
> 
> Chapter title comes from the Margaret Atwood poem After All, You are Quite


	4. The truth must dazzle gradually

A few days before Harry Potter's second birthday, there came an unexpected ring of the doorbell at the front of his father's house.

Though all the occupants of the house were generally well liked across the wizarding world, there were very few outside their intimate circle of four who could truly call them friends. A pretty young witch who paid regular visits to one Sirius Black notwithstanding, there had been no one else inside their home for months. This is all to say, that the three young men and the little boy who lived in the small house in Godric's Hollow had grown quite unaccustomed to visitors.

So, when the doorbell rang early on that sunny July morning, it was rather a shock.

Truth be told, Remus hadn't realized that there even _was_ a doorbell on the house, though, if pressed, he likely would have said there was, simply because homes tend to have such features, even if wizards rarely have any use for them.

When the visitor arrived, Remus was lying on the couch, bleary-eyed and just beginning to wake up. He watched as Harry tottered about, waddling between the edge of the living room and the kitchen where James was fixing his breakfast.

Remus bolted straight up at the sound of the doorbell though, noting a slight twinge in his back as he did so. He would be grateful when this week was over and it was his turn in the guest bedroom again. The couch wasn't _so_ bad, but by the end of each of his weeks sleeping on it, he remembered why he was glad he took Sirius up on the offer to switch off sleeping arrangements weekly, rather than camping out on the couch permanently as he had originally planned.

James emerged from the kitchen and exchanged an apprehensive glance with Remus as he made his way to answer the door.

"Professor Dumbledore! I — er — hello!"

"Good morning, James," came their old professor's familiar, ever-serene voice. "I hope you'll forgive my rude intrusion upon your morning, but I was rather hoping for the opportunity to speak with you. And Mr Black and Mr Lupin as well, if they are available."

"Of course, right, I, erm, let me just—" James cast a panicked glance over his shoulder at Remus.

Remus, in turn, looked around at the state of the living room — his bed still made up on the couch, himself dressed in nothing but old grey joggers, the pile of dirty laundry in one corner, the pile of Harry's toys in the other corner — and promptly sprang to his feet, desperately scrambling for a shirt and casting about for somewhere to hide the mess.

At the same time, Harry began to yell, "Daaaaddddyyyyyy!" over and over in frustration at the delay in his breakfast.

Also at the same time, a pot on the stove could be heard boiling over, and Remus didn't know which disaster to tackle first.

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said, "I might conveniently require a moment to gather my thoughts prior to our meeting? There is a lovely view from your front porch that I imagine will be quite conducive to thinking." Remus practically heard the twinkle in his eye.

"Yes, thank you, sir," James said with relief. Closing the door on Dumbledore, he turned to Remus, "Can you—?"

"On it!" Remus said, pulling on a shirt and dashing into the kitchen to placate Harry and attend to the stove.

"I'm just gonna grab Sirius!" James called, running up the stairs.

Remus tossed some porridge down in front of Harry, and sifted through the laundry for some more appropriate trousers, before shoving the pile of clothes carelessly into a cupboard.

"Sirius, get up! Dumbledore's — OH MERLIN'S TITS!" James was yelling upstairs. A door slammed. "Er — not tits! Oh god, sorry Natalie!"

Remus couldn't help laughing, caught somewhere between genuine humour and that overwhelmed sort of laughter that comes when things get a bit too absurd first thing in the morning.

"Ever heard of knocking, mate?" Sirius said a few moments later, the guest room door banging shut again.

"I know, I know, sorry! But Dumbledore just showed up, he's waiting on the porch, and Harry was screaming, and the living room's a mess, and I totally forgot she was here and—"

"Relax, Prongs. I'm up, okay? It'll be fine."

The two of them crashed down the stairs and joined Remus, who was just putting the finishing touches on tidying the room.

"Thanks, Moony, you're the best," James said, looking around.

"There'll be porridge all over the kitchen. And the laundry's in the cupboard with the pots and pans."

James chuckled, running a hand through the back of his hair. "It still looks cleaner than it has all year."

"Daaadddyyyy!"

"Oh, right. Uh," he looked around as if he would find a solution somewhere in the room, continuing to mess up his hair. "Sirius, do you know if Nat has time to sit with Harry for a bit?"

"I sure do," Natalie said, appearing at the bottom of the stairs and proceeding straight through to the kitchen. "Holy Helga, there's porridge everywhere."

She emerged a moment later, carrying Harry and cleaning the front of his jumper with her wand.

"We'll just head out back, shall we, Harry? Have a little ride on your broom?" The toddler nodded eagerly.

"Thanks so much, Natalie," James said. "You're a life-saver."

"Yeah, thanks love," Sirius added with a smirk. "But when you're done playing with Harry, it better be my turn again."

His remark earned him a good-natured tsk and a swat on the arm from Natalie, and a dramatic gagging gesture from James, while Remus's stomach swooped to the floor. He hated when Sirius talked like that.

"Okay, are we good, then?" Remus said sharply. "Can I remind everyone that Professor Dumbledore is on our porch?"

"Right, yeah. We should probably let him in." James sounded nervous, heading to open the front door as Natalie and Harry disappeared towards the back.

"Anyone have any ideas what he could want?"

Remus and Sirius both shrugged.

A few minutes later, they were all settled, cups of tea in front of them, pleasantries exchanged. The Marauders sat in a row on the couch, their former professor in the cosiest available armchair.

"I expect you are wondering why I have gathered you here this morning," Dumbledore began. The three younger men nodded.

"Perhaps you will recall that on New Year's Eve, upon Hagrid's return from Albania, a small book came into my possession."

Sirius and Remus nodded again, enraptured, though James looked confused.

"This book was taken off the person of a Death Eater on Halloween night." Remus could sensed James's body tensing beside him as Dumbledore continued. "It was believed by Hagrid, and initially myself, to be blank. An empty diary, unused.

"However, when I examined it, I recognized the name inscribed inside the front cover. T. M. Riddle. You are all far to young to know that name, of course. Indeed, many much older than you have long forgotten the man - or the boy, at the time - to whom this book belonged. More accurately perhaps, they have forgotten the name Tom Riddle. It is impossible not to be familiar with the man, for he is famous by another name now: Lord Voldemort."

Remus felt his eyes widen and his muscles tense at the sound of the Dark Lord's name. Sirius clutched at his arm. James dug his fingers into the couch.

"There are not many who made the connection between Tom Riddle and his new identity, but as luck would have it, I am one of the few," Dumbledore continued.

"Though, the inscription alone did not explain why a high-ranking Death Eater was carrying the apparently blank, adolescent diary of his master, strapped to his chest, on such an important mission.

"Upon investigation, I found that when I wrote in the diary, the diary wrote back. Now, there is a fairly simple enchantment, commonly used in joke products, that can cause this effect."

Remus nodded again. He was familiar with that enchantment, having used a similar one in the development of the Marauder's Map to have it insult anyone without the password phrase.

"The diary though, did not speak by rote or with a single purpose. It was flexible, creative, and rather… manipulative in its discourse. Quite like speaking to a person. It became clear to me that this was no enchantment. It was a person — a soul — encased in the diary. A fragment of the soul of sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle, to be precise."

Remus exchanged looks with his friends. The idea of a piece of Voldemort's soul trapped in a book was terrifying — and confusing. Certainly, what this could have to do with any of _them_ was confusing. And a bit terrifying.

Sirius spoke first. "A fragment of his soul? I'm sorry, sir, but what does that mean?"

"Ah, yes. It is the very darkest of magic. The diary was what is known as a horcrux - a fragment of a person's soul, encased in an object. This object could be anything, even a living thing, though in general the creator of the horcrux chooses an object of personal significance to themselves. Their adolescent diary, for example."

Dumbledore sipped his tea and looked at the group in front of him expectantly. As ever when listening to Dumbledore, Remus found his explanation to be clear as mud. But based on precedent, there was surely a point to all this that would eventually become clear.

"What does a horcrux do, exactly?" he asked. "Why would you put part of your soul into an object?"

"To avoid death," Dumbledore began simply. "Though the body may die, as long as a part of the soul lives on, the self can be reformed. For Tom Riddle, it appears, endless power and domination were not enough. He was also in search of endless life."

"But you have the diary now, right?" Sirius asked. "It can be destroyed? And that would stop him coming back?"

"Yes, the diary can be destroyed. Indeed, I have destroyed it. But he is not necessarily stopped. In fact, I doubt very much that he is. The diary became a horcrux when Tom Riddle was only sixteen years old. As he lived another forty years after that, no, I do not believe that he entrusted his immortality to a single object."

"So there are more horcruxes?" Remus asked. "Do you need the Order to help destroy them? Is that why you're here?"

There was a beat of silence, and Dumbledore's cool facade faltered for the first time.

"Not the whole Order, no." He hesitated for a moment. He looked like he was about to continue, but James interjected, speaking for the first time since Dumbledore began talking about the diary.

"Sir, how is a horcrux created?" His voice was barely above a whisper.

Dumbledore levelled a stare straight into James's eyes, as if he'd understood something that Remus did not yet quite grasp.

"Murder. One must take the life of another to split the soul in two."

James nodded slowly, though Sirius gave a sharp intake of breath.

"Tom Riddle was a murderer many times over. The number of horcruxes he could have created is anyone's guess, at this point. I am investigating the matter, and I believe I will have an answer of his intended number of horcruxes soon, though it may be difficult to know for certain exactly how many he was successful in creating. It will be a long, arduous, and perhaps dangerous mission to destroy the horcruxes, but it is imperative that it is done as soon as possible, before Tom Riddle returns.

"I am here today to ask the three of you to take up this mission with me."

Remus's body was still. It felt like Dumbledore's statement echoed around in his head several times. He couldn't bring himself to say anything, or to react at all. Neither did Sirius or James.

"It is essential that this mission is kept secret," he continued after a pause. "If this were to become widely known, it would only increase the likelihood of the objects becoming harder to find and destroy. Should you decide to take on this task, you must not speak of it except amongst yourselves."

Remus nodded slowly, processing what he'd heard. One thing remained unclear. Well, many things were unclear, but one in particular.

"Why us?" he asked.

Dumbledore closed his eyes for a moment, tilting his head downward. He appeared to take a steadying breath before he raised his head and spoke again.

"Because of Harry," he began. "On the night that his mother was killed, something incredible, and perhaps unique, occurred between Harry and Lord Voldemort. The scar on his forehead remains unchanged, unhealed, does it not?"

James nodded in conformation.

"That scar could be a simple remnant of the killing curse. The curse is not normally survived, so it is possible that it leaves a scar in non-fatal cases. Perhaps. That is what I initially believed.

"However, there is another possible explanation. It is my belief that regardless of the meaning of his scar, Harry survived because of the sacrifice his mother made. Her love for her child likely saved his life. It would not be the first instance of a mother's love accomplishing the impossible. This powerful magic of maternal love would be…unendurable for Lord Voldemort to confront. As a man who grew up without a mother and who showed no evidence of feeling love for anything throughout his life, the defense Lily mounted to save her son may have been the one thing, the one area of magic, that Tom Riddle could not defend himself against.

"Given that we know that his soul was already split into at least two pieces, and potentially many more, it stands to reason that his soul was fragile. Being confronted by powerful love magic may have split it further, dislodging another fragment. Though a soul can be contained within an inanimate object, this is an exceedingly unnatural state."

Remus held his breath.

"A fragment of soul, untethered to a body that no longer exists, would seek out the closest living thing. My theory on the matter is that Harry became a horcrux, and the scar on his forehead represents the intrusion of Lord Voldemort's soul into his body."

The room was silent for several moments. The inside of Remus's head felt fuzzy, his hearing and vision a mess of blunted edges and imprecision.

"That's not possible," James said, breaking the silence, his voice hard. "Harry doesn't have anything from that monster inside of him. He's perfect." He nearly spat the last syllable.

Dumbledore levelled him a careful stare. "I acknowledge a good-deal of guesswork went into my theory, and it is possible that it will be proven incorrect in time. I dearly hope that it is. But I would suggest, James, that it would be most prudent for us to operate as though it were true for the time being - out of caution, if nothing else."

James continued to scowl at Dumbledore, though he did not protest further.

"I understand this may feel like quite a lot of information, and I am sure you wish to discuss all of this amongst yourselves," the old professor carried on, the twinkle returning to his eye. "But a couple tactical notes before I leave you.

"Firstly, horcruxes are extremely difficult objects to destroy, with only a few substances known to combat their powerful magic. I happen to be in possession of a sword that will do just this thing and have used it to destroy the diary. Living horcruxes are more difficult, though I do not doubt that it will be possible to remove the horcrux that resides within Harry without causing him harm, I do not yet know how. I assure you, I will find out."

There was a general shudder of dread within the room. Dumbledore paid it no mind.

"I have several ideas as to what the other objects may be, including a ring that belonged to Tom Riddle's grandfather. I believe I am close to determining its location and may call on your assistance in retrieving it when I am able to do so.

"I continue to research the identities and locations of the other objects, and I would again like to share this information with you when I am able. Though I do no think it immodest to say that I consider myself rather clever, I am not above asking for help when needed."

Dumbledore drained his tea, set the cup back into the saucer and, clasping his hands in front of him, stood.

"You asked before, Remus, why you three? The answer, I hope is now clear, is the simple fact that you love the child at the centre of this most difficult challenge facing all of us on the side of the light. That love, in addition to the bravery and sharp minds that each of you possess, is the greatest asset I could hope for in this fight." Dumbledore's piercing blue glare passed over each of them in turn.

Though Remus had many thoughts and questions beginning in his mind, no single thread of thought seemed to hang around long enough for him to grab onto it and form it into words.

All he could manage was a polite goodbye as he walked the professor to the door.

When he returned to the main room, James was standing up, fists balled at his sides.

"I don't want to talk," he said as though he were forcing the words through his lips. He left the room, and Remus heard his bedroom door slam shut moments later.

Remus sighed. This was the last thing they needed around here. As if three twenty-two-year-olds raising a toddler with one job between them didn't have enough problems.

Speaking of the toddler, it was almost nap time. He made his way to the back garden and paused in the doorway for a moment. Harry was flying around on his toy broom, slowly chasing a practice snitch. The snitch was charmed to move at the same speed as the toy broom and fly no higher than half a meter off the ground.

Harry leaned forward on his broom, his small brows etched together, a look of pure determination on his round, pudgy face. He reached one arm out, his other hand clutching the handle of the broom tightly, and Harry secured a fist around the snitch.

Natalie laughed and clapped, cheering from where she sat in the grass at the edge of the garden.

Remus joined in from where he was still stood in the doorway. "Good one, Harry!"

Harry turned at his voice, and jumping off his broom, came running over to Remus. "Reemy! Look!" He held the snitch proudly aloft for a moment, before it slipped out of his hand and flew away.

"You were brilliant, Harry! A seeker just like your dad!" Remus's voice was bright and cheery, but he was sure his smile didn't reach his eyes. He couldn't stop staring at Harry's scar.

James was right — Harry was perfect. A wonderful, sweet, perfect little boy.

But Remus didn't believe that meant Dumbledore wasn't right too. That scar wasn't normal. He'd known that — on some level — for a while. He just hadn't wanted to think about the implications. Now that he'd been forced to, Remus couldn't help the shudder of fear that washed over him, even as he scooped Harry up in his arms and smiled broadly.

"Is everything alright? What did professor Dumbledore want?" Natalie asked, appearing alongside him and following him and Harry as they went back into the house.

"Um," Remus began, "everything's fine for now. Just some Order business. But I think… we maybe need some time here, so…"

Natalie frowned a bit at his lack of openness, but she didn't argue.

"I'll just pop in and say bye to Sirius, then," she said, giving Harry a smile and a wave, as she slipped past them in the hallway.

Remus watched her go, then carried Harry upstairs, chattering to him about the fun he must have had playing on his broom. He lay him down for his nap, only stopping for a moment to look at the sleeping child and wonder at the horror of what might be hidden inside of him.

Back downstairs, Sirius had not moved since Remus had last seen him.

"Harry's down," he said, flopping onto the sofa next to Sirius. "Natalie gone?"

"Yeah."

They were silent for a moment.

"I'm so mad," Sirius said. His voice was low, almost a hiss. "I don't want to do it again. We shouldn't have to. Haven't we all given enough?"

Remus turned to face him, tucking his legs up so he was sideways on the couch. He let Sirius talk.

"And if he's right about Harry, about what — what's inside him… He just — He's not even two! It's not fair. He's done _nothing_." He looked Remus in the eye, his voice like ice. "I'm going to fucking kill Peter Pettigrew."

Sirius's always dark eyes seemed blacker somehow as Remus stared back at him, not daring to interrupt his friend's display of pain.

"All of this is his fault. All of it! If he hadn't been a traitorous little _rat_ " — he spat the word — "none of this would have happened. I should have gone after him on Halloween. I should never have let him get away. I… I should have been the one. I would have died to save them, been a real Secret-Keeper. Lily would be alive and Harry wouldn't be scarred and… It's all my fault, Moony."

As quickly as he'd become angry, Sirius became overwrought with guilt and shame. Remus knew him. He'd seen Sirius through good and bad and everything in between. He knew the way his emotions were loud and open and could swing from one to the next in a heartbeat. It was still unsettling every time he watched it happen.

"None of this should have happened. All my fault… all of it." Sirius repeated those words, and others like it, through tears as he lay down, his head resting on Remus's lap.

Remus sat with him, stroking his hair until the tears stopped falling, wondering how this day that had started off so normally, could have come to this. It seemed, that though magical Britain was at peace, their own war was far from over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for how long this took! I am especially sorry to the person who I told that this would be updating every 1-2 weeks. I am a liar, but unintentionally so.
> 
> Thanks for still being here (or for just arriving!) and I hoped you liked the chapter. Comments always appreciated!
> 
> Also, come say hi on [tumblr!](https://diana-skye.tumblr.com//)
> 
> Chapter title comes from the Emily Dickinson poem _1129._


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